Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Jim
The smell of fries and salt hung in the air—America’s finest perfume.
The girls and I sat in a quiet nook at McDonald’s, reviewing the new, cute ideas my event planner had come up with for our company party.
Since Avery opted out of joining us tonight—gee, I wonder why?
—I used this time to show the girls how we were bringing in more North Pole props to greet our employees at the Shrine.
Avery’s last text made me smile. Retaliation for my gorgeous wife would be nothing short of her feeling exactly how I’d felt after being plastered on camera for God and everyone to see, painted as some soft-hearted billionaire rescuing brown Christmas trees that, quite honestly, needed to be chipped before they caught everything on fire.
If I really wanted to explain what was going on with every brown tree sitting on a lot, I’d tell the world it came down to bad business. Cut too early. Shipped too early. And with Southern California’s eighty-degree winter days, those fuckers didn’t stand a chance baking on blacktop for a month.
But this wasn’t about bad planning on the tree farm’s part.
This was about the fact that I was now a “compassionate CEO” who apparently couldn’t stand to see a dying fir go unadopted, which was bullshit.
I didn’t feel sorry for those trees. Hell, I was perfectly fine with our artificial one.
The only reason I pulled the idea of a real tree out of my ass was to keep Avery occupied at the farm all day—stalling her permits, stoking her irritation, and giving myself a breather.
Now? Now I was Father Christmas, trending all over social media, while my brother sold the story to the press from my office. And Avery? Her cute ass was probably curled up on the couch right now, watching every second of it.
“I love all of it,” Addy said, sliding the folder toward Izzy to show the new holiday sets. She slurped the last of her milkshake. “I don’t care if Mom’s is better or not. Ours is bright and cheerful and everything that makes Christmas exciting.”
I grinned. “Well, after your mother’s little collaboration with Spencer, Uncle Jake, and Collin today, I have a feeling that by the time I finish my retaliation plan, she won’t care who wins Christmas. She’ll just be glad we’re celebrating as a family again.”
“Oh, no,” Izzy said. “What happened?”
Addy flipped her phone around to show her the trending TikTok feed. While Addy laughed, Izzy covered her mouth, eyes wide.
“What’s the latest one?” I asked, already knowing this circus had blown up since my lunch with Alex and Sebastian.
Addy sighed, reading aloud, “Imagine getting a charcuterie board for Christmas, then watching your boss on the news having a heart for dead pine trees.” She looked up. “Hashtag: MitchellsDontCare.”
She cringed. I rolled my eyes. Izzy’s jaw dropped. “Mom did not do this to you!”
“Oh, it wasn’t just Mom,” I said, smirking. “Jake and Collin couldn’t resist. You know how those two are.”
Izzy giggled; Addy frowned. “So? How are you going to fix this?”
They didn’t need to worry. I could fix it in an hour if I wanted to. My PR team could turn this into a net gain before midnight. Bad press was still press—and in my world, it always paid off.
But the person I did want to worry was my charming little devil of a wife.
“Listen,” I said, leaning back, “this doesn’t hurt me at all, but we’re going to let Mom think it did. She wanted to be cute about my so-called tree obsession, so I’m going to keep her prank alive and add to it.”
Izzy gasped, laughing. “You’re going to be fake-mad at her?”
“Saves you both from having to watch all the gross kissing,” I said with a wink.
Addy smirked. “You won’t last, Dad. You always break first when you two argue.”
“True,” I said. “Because I miss the kisses.”
They both groaned as I stood. “I’ll be right back. Time to get Mom’s hot apple pie and make sure it comes straight from the freezer.”
Addy laughed. “You’ll cave tonight. You’ll feel bad for giving her frozen dessert.”
“Is that a challenge?” I asked.
“Fifty bucks says you crack by tomorrow night,” she said. “You can’t stay mad for long, fake or not.”
“Why does everyone think I’m some softie suddenly who is going to lose?” I smirked. “I run a billion-dollar company. I never lose. My life’s mission is to win…everything.”
“That’s business,” Addy said, shrugging. “This is personal. You’re way too soft when it’s personal.”
Thirty minutes later, we walked into the house.
Avery was curled on the couch, pretending to watch one of those Hallmark Christmas movies she swore she hated.
“I thought you hated these,” I said, handing her the takeout bag with the frozen pie.
“I think they’re cute,” she said, smiling as she sat up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Addy and Izzy crouched behind the wall, trying not to laugh as they watched.
“Cute,” I said. “Kind of like having the media show up at my office today to tell the world I have a special heart for Christmas trees?”
Her smile faltered. “Jim, I had nothing to do with the media showing up. You have to believe that.”
“I honestly don’t know what to believe,” I said, keeping my tone even. “But when Jake called me Father Christmas on camera…that name wasn’t his invention. That was your nickname.”
She reached into the bag, frowning. “Oh, come on. It’s frozen.”
“Tragic,” I said.
“Jim,” she sighed. “Let’s not argue. Seriously. The tree thing was just supposed to tease you. Jake overheard, or Ash told him, and it spiraled. That part’s on them, not me.”
God, she looked beautiful when she lied.
And as much as I wanted to pull her into my arms, kiss her neck, and call it even, I held my ground. If I wanted these pranks to stop before Christmas, I had to keep my game face and prove to my daughter that she wasn’t absolutely right…I was a big, fat softie when it came to my girls.
“Have you seen social media?” I asked.
“I haven’t looked,” she lied—too fast, too bright.
“Ah,” I said. “So, you don’t know about the newest hashtag? BoardAndBranchGate, or all the memes of me holding a cigar next to a dead tree?”
She bit her lip, fighting a smile, eyes glimmering like she’d been scrolling all night.
Her pretending only fueled me.
But tonight wasn’t for digging in—it was for the setup. Let the story simmer, let her twist, let her realize she’d started something she couldn’t control.
And that would be enough to keep me smiling.
The next night, I met the men for dinner while the wives enjoyed each other’s company. Avery was likely receiving support from the ladies, and I was about to catch more hell from the men.
Walking into Horizon, Titus’s Michelin-starred restaurant that dominated the Pacific at the Marina, felt like stepping into a snow globe owned by a man allergic to subtlety.
Gold garlands shimmered from the twenty-foot ceilings, every table sparkled under crystal chandeliers, and the forty-foot fir at the center of the dining room glittered with thousands of lights and enough imported ornaments to decorate a whole county.
A string quartet played Carol of the Bells in soft, sultry jazz, and waiters floated around in black vests, pouring $800 bottles of wine like it was water.
It was obscene. And, infuriatingly, perfect. Everything Titus demanded. God help me, I couldn’t wait to hear that bastard’s comments about all this tonight.
This place was a sharp contrast to my skyscraper, where a single, browning pine tree now sat in the lobby, its brittle needles flaking across marble like evidence of defeat. As she admitted last night, that was Avery’s doing.
Every time I walked through the lobby, the smell of dying pine greeted me like a personal reminder that my wife would no longer win this war on Christmas.
“Mitchell,” Titus called, standing as I approached. His grin was already what I knew it would be. “You made it. California’s most misunderstood philanthropist.”
Jake, Spencer, Collin, Cameron, and Alex were already seated, drinks in hand and grins locked in.
“Oh, look,” Jake said. “The man who traded meat for mulch.”
Spencer smirked. “You’re trending again, by the way. I think my favorite is that hashtag calling you Saint Pine Needle.”
Collin eyed me and raised his glass toward where I sat. “We are so proud.”
I loosened my tie and took my seat, nodding to the waiter for a scotch. “Gentlemen. Good to know my downfall brings you this much joy.”
Titus slid into his chair at the head of the table, swirling his wine. “Your wife replaced your corporate Christmas tree with a rescue tree that looks like a cross between a tumbleweed and a 16th-century broomstick, Jim. You must admit—that’s some form of art in party planning war.”
The table erupted in laughter.
“Every time I walk into that lobby,” I said dryly, “it looks like we’re hosting a memorial service for pine trees.”
Jake grinned. “You’ve got to hand it to her—”
“No,” I smoothly cut my brother off, “I need to hand it to you.”
“How so? Because I got your ass trending on your daughter’s favorite social media site?”
“If trending as the asshole boss who cares more about brown trees than his company this year is what you were after, then yes. However, it’s because of all this bullshit,” I eyed the men at the table, “that you’re all going to play along with the fake fight I’m about to have with my wife for it.”
“Oh, shit,” Cam said. “This shit can backfire, dude. Fake fight?”
“I’ve barely got my balls at this point,” I said. “The defamation of my character as the billionaire who had a nervous breakdown after ordering charcuterie boards for Christmas—and is now making up for it by rescuing brown Christmas trees—is a little too complete for my taste.”
“So, what’s our role supposed to be?” Collin said.
“That’s for all of you smart asses to come up with,” I said, “but I’ll give you direction…”
“Hold the hell up,” Jake said while Spence remained on his phone, ignoring this part. “Why would we do anything to help your sorry ass? That was our prank against you.”
“Fair point,” I smiled. “But you dumbasses jump at every opportunity to prank anyone, and now I’m giving you the option to go all in to keep this escalating with Avery.”
“We could do the whole couples therapy thing from last year,” Collin laughed into his scotch.
“Neither one of us will be shitting our brains out on an island in a forest,” I returned, “but perhaps we could play along with that direction.”
“You’re playing dirty, Avery was playing cute,” Cameron added.
“Avery was playing with my reputation,” I chuckled, “and I’m simply going to make her feel as though she’d taken this all too far.”
Titus arched an eyebrow, “What the hell are you planning?”
I leaned back in my chair, “I want to take this down a road where the Mitchells just might not survive until Christmas.”
“You’re going to make her squirm; however, like Cam said, this could seriously backfire on you,” Spencer said.
“It won’t,” I smiled.
“I’ve dated countless women, and even I know you don’t fuck around with the fake bad moods, or your ass is toast. They hold onto grudges, man.” Spencer looked adamant that this was a horrible idea.
“Countless women,” Collin rolled his eyes as Jake threw his head back in laughter. “I don’t know about all the countless others, Monroe, but I do know that your wife is a master at toasting your ass.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” Spencer added with a chuckle.
“I say we do it,” Jake said, smiling like he couldn’t wait to see me fall on my face. “My brother, who doesn’t know how to prank worth a damn, is trying this shit on and believing it will work.”
“I got your asses last year, didn’t I? That prank was certainly worth a damn,” I said.
“Now, those words are the truest ever spoken, friends,” Collin said. “All right, Jimbo. Let’s see what we can do to get back at your feisty wife for making you trend in the worst way on social media.”
“That really was my idea,” Jake said.
“But you got the idea when you heard her talking about the damn rescue tree,” I arched an eyebrow. “That was ground zero for all this bullshit.”
I internally laughed at how perfect my retaliation was going to be, and I was confident that after I was finished, my wife would never try to prank my ass through my company again.
Oh, the holidays—nothing like a bit of family chaos and double-crossing to keep things interesting.